The Day I Became a Killer
by ProfessorScrooge
Summary: What could be so bad as to break the unflappable nanny? One-Shot.


**A/N: This one emerged from something I saw in a paper at some point of a possible new Mary Poppins film, which mentioned the idea of a darker Poppins. This completely confused as Ms. Poppins has always been anything but (also it also confused me as I'd have assumed P. would have put in her will "Never Again." if 'Saving Mr Banks' is to be believed. Good film that.)**

 **Anyway, that put me into mind of what on Earth could make the light-hearted, kind, if strict, nanny be 'dark.' And this just popped into my head. Written in about half an hour to an hour, just a one-shot to get the idea out of my head.  
**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

The Day I Became a Killer

Up above the streets of London, far beyond the curled ash of its chimneys and the choke of its smog, beyond the world of the chimney-sweeps, a woman wept.

She sat upon the edge of a cloud (if one can be said to have such things), her navy-blue dress rumpled, her make-up smudged, and her 'practically perfect' aura which she normally exuded was in tatters. Her once dignified posture was slumped, and a monogrammed silk handkerchief was limp in her hands, sodden with salty tears.

For today was not a good day for Mary Poppins.

This morning, as had happened many times before, she had received a crumpled letter. It was not in the least bit singed, despite its travel through a fireplace and up a chimney, and the handwriting was as abominable as any child's she had seen before. What was new was the wording of the note. It simply beheld two words: "Please help."

Though she had never seen such a thing before, she reasoned that it had to have come to her for a reason; as such things did not happen by coincidence. And so, she made her way down on the wind, umbrella upheld to alight gracefully on a perfectly normal road, on a perfectly normal street.

The man at the door has seemed perfectly normal as well, if dis-trustworthy of her, but she was hesitantly allowed into the building. It was there that something had seemed off. It had been several moments before she had come to realise what was wrong.

It was silent, and bare. There were no photographs on the mantelpiece, no little shoes by the door, no drawings on the walls, no loose toys left behind, the house looked entirely drab and utilitarian; the abode of an adult.

When she had asked as to the whereabouts of his children he glanced fearfully towards a set of stairs leading down to what was presumably a cellar door before going entirely stone faced and stating that he didn't have any children.

When she referred to them by name (for of course she knew their names, one of the little perks of her abilities) he had attempted to strike her. Her eyes had narrowed as she batted his fist away with her umbrella handle. When she had shouted out the children's names to discover their whereabouts, her blood had run cold upon a pounding from the cellar door at the base of the stairs.

The man's mutterings and attempts to attack her probably contributed as well.

And that was the moment when she did something she had never done before. She had used violence. One single 'thwack' with her umbrella sent him toppling.

If perhaps, he hadn't been at the top of the stairs, things might have gone more differently.

But he had been.

And every thump as the man hit the stone on the way down had resounded in her ears.

She had frozen when he landed wrong, and an audible crack sounded as his neck snapped.

For the longest time she had remained still, simply staring at his crumpled form. For the first time in forever, Mary Poppins had not known what to do. That was, until a renewed banging upon the door at the base of the steps had snapped her from her reverie.

What had been beyond…was something she sorely wished she could forget, that she could scrub her eyes with bleach, that she could iron out her mind to forget the awful, awful…

She had done what she could and left just before the police had arrived.

And here she had sat, upon her cloud, and wept.

For she simply knew of nothing else she could do.

 **A/N: And there you have that, my answer to a question I guess I posed to myself: What could possibly break Mary Poppins?**

 **I'll leave any gap filling up to you as I am certainly not going into detail, and I'll leave to you what century this is in, and whether that was the Banks family or not.**


End file.
